you must go, go as my wife."

A thrill of joy ran through her. Her lips quivered.
She wanted to cry out, to put her arms around
his neck, to tell him everything in her heart. Then
came a quick, sharp pain that stifled every other
thought. For the first time the real bitterness of
the situation confronted her. This phase of it she
had not counted upon.

She shrank back a little. "Don't ask me that!"
she moaned in a tone almost of pain. "I can stand
anything now but that. Not now--not now!"

Her hand was still under his, her fingers lying
limp, all the pathos of her suffering in her face:
determination to do her duty, horror over the situation,
and above them all her overwhelming love for
him.

He put his arm about her shoulders and drew her
to him.

"You love me, Jane, don't you?"

"Yes, more than all else in the world," she
answered simply. "Too well"--and her voice broke
--"to have you give up your career for me or mine."

"Then why should we live apart? I am willing